Last night Brad and I had to bid farewell to our trusty little crockpot. The entire thing tumbled out of the cupboard last night, the crock hit the kitchen floor and broke cleanly into four large pieces. This sounds silly, but I almost cried over it. Part of that might be because it hit my foot, but mostly I was sad because that little counter-top appliance was one of the first gifts we had received from our wedding registry. My mother-in-law got it for us while Brad and I were still engaged. In its honor, I have composed the following poem.
"Elegy for a Crockpot"
Oh trusty crockpot, tried and true
3 quarts of space for soup or stew,
you cooked all day and to our delight,
our meals were hot when we returned at night.
Never once did you protest
when my recipes were not the best.
The spaghetti noodles that turned to goo,
'twas not your fault! 'twas mine, 'tis true!
Our last meal together was that soup with the corn
and now that it's gone we're quite forlorn.
Never more will we fill you up
with tasty foods on which we'll sup.
We bid farewell to you dear friend
and feel such loss over your untimely end.
This poem perhaps is not archival,
but it's fitting for you, our 3 quart Rival.